


The Attic

by gracediamondsfear



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort, Draco Needs A Sponge Bath, F/M, Good Draco, Hermione Take The Wheel, War AU, everyone gather round, traumatized Draco, war ongoing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 17:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14753591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracediamondsfear/pseuds/gracediamondsfear
Summary: Hermione is now the head of The Order of The Phoenix and the only one who can talk Draco down off the ledge after he comes back from violent missions.This was a prompt challenge sent to me on tumblr (stop by for other hidden dramione gems). Thanks for the inspiration my WFW girls...this one's for you :)





	1. He Needs You

As the war dragged on and the remaining members of the Order struggled to find Harry, the house at 12 Grimmauld Place came to be known as the House of The Phoenix. At any time there were at least six or seven people there: hiding, healing, planning, living. It was the base of operations for the light.

Hermione, being the only member of the trio not missing, had reluctantly become the leader of sorts and most of the time she was holed up in her room at her desk, trying to devise new locator spells, tracking charms, better ways to communicate with other members in the field.

She was sitting at her desk in her makeshift “office” on the second floor well after midnight when Ginny and Blaise slipped in through the half open door.

“Hermione,” Ginny began, but Hermione held up her hand, her mind already fully consumed with worry for any number of her friends that were out on missions.

“I don’t want an update right now. I can’t. I’m too—”

“He needs you,” Blaise said sharply, stepping in front of Ginny and into the room. “He needs you now.”

 

Allegiances changed all the time. They’d began this war as kids, and they were still essentially kids after all. It was inevitable that they would grow and change and see the damage they’d done to each other. Some of them wouldn’t rest until they’d set what they’d done right.

She climbed the short flight of stairs and opened the door to the attic bedroom and saw Draco sitting on the edge of the bed, alone in the dark. He didn’t acknowledge her, didn’t speak, his eyes locked on the blank wall across from him. His face and arms were spattered with dark splotches of blood, streaked with mud, his white hair stained with it, damp with sweat. She could see him trembling from across the room, his knee bobbing as he gripped his wand with white, cracked and bleeding knuckles.

“Draco,” she said quietly, stepping into the room fully.

As she got closer she could smell the blood that stained his black clothes, the cold rain and sweat, the Sulphury, smoky smell of evaporating spells. She stood right in front of him but he didn’t look up. His lip was trembling, eyes rimmed red.

“Draco you’re home. It’s OK. It’s me. Look at me.” She lit two of the oil lamps that hung from the rafters and he flinched as if the light hurt him, squinting his eyes.

“I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“I know. You say that every time.” She held her hand out. “Give me your wand.”

He didn’t comply, still sat frozen, looking somewhere beyond her, so she crouched down between his shaking knees and carefully pried the weapon from his grip, setting it on the bedside table.

“I’m going to start you a bath. You’ll feel better once you’ve cleaned up, gotten warm.”

But when she stood to leave he grabbed her arm, holding it tight enough to make her wince.

“Don’t go. Please.”

“Then you have to start listening to me, responding to me. You can’t disappear into yourself again, do you hear me?”

He nodded and let go of her, finally looking her in the eyes. They were like a drug, like a shot of fire whiskey warming his belly. Just seeing her face, so beautiful and serene, so confident, helped to slow his racing heart, even out his breathing so he could begin to calm down. Her low, measured voice was like a lullaby as she counted each of his inhales, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh.

“OK, I’m only walking across the hall,” she said, pressing her hand to his cold cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

Again he nodded silently and watched her go, his knee starting to bob again as soon as she left the room, set adrift as soon as his anchor was gone.

 

It was the same every time he went out. She’d told him to stop this ridiculous mission of revenge, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Once he’d renounced his family and joined the order, he’d made his list: high ranking death eaters, snatchers, anyone that he’d seen torture and murder students or professors, anyone who’d dared to hurt  _her_ especially. They all eventually paid the price. But with every kill, Draco paid too. When he came back he was a shell of himself, disjointed and hollow, withdrawn, and only Hermione could put him back together. No one else was allowed to see such weakness. No one else was allowed to see him so vulnerable.

She came back with a bowl of warm water and a washcloth, her bottle of dittany close by, although she was fairly sure that most of the blood was someone else’s.

“Come on then,” she said sternly. “We need to get you out of those clothes.”

He didn’t move and she spoke again, a bit louder, harsher, nudging his leg with hers.

“You heard me, take them off.”

He flinched back into the moment and nodded. While he unlaced and kicked off his heavy, black leather boots, Hermione helped him with his black leather coat, the grey, blood stained hoodie and his favorite battered black jeans. She couldn’t help but smile as she slid them down his legs. They were the first pair of jeans he ever owned. “ _Malfoys don’t wear denim,_ ” he’d said, mimicking his mother. “ _But I always wanted a pair_.”

“There’s a good boy,” she said with a smile, helping him to sit in the desk chair she’d pulled to the middle of the room.

Of course there were spells she could have used to clean him, to heal his minor cuts and bruises; but she knew from experience that he needed to be touched. He needed to feel her hands run through his wet hair, feel the cool stream of her breath as she blew on a cut that ran through his eyebrow. These were the things that brought him back to humanity.

“How can you love a killer?” He asked, watching her dab at the wounds on his knuckles. It wasn’t often that wizards got bloodied or bruised. Spells could be thrown from yards away, detaching them completely from the act of killing or torture. But sometimes, some people, magical or otherwise, just needed to have their jaw broken.

“You aren’t a killer,” she said, sitting back on her heels to wring out the washcloth, the water in the bowl turning rusty. His white hair and pale skin, the grey silver cast of his eyes reminded her of an old Grecian statue she’d seen in the British Museum. “You’re a soldier. We all are. You’re a protector.”

He blinked once and looked down at her, brushing her hair back from her face. 

“You forget I’m a killer too,” she said, leaning into his touch. She set the bowl and washcloth aside and held up her bottle of Dittany. “Do you need this?”

Draco shook his head. She’d done her magic again, could see it in the way his shoulders had dropped a few inches, his breathing had slowed.

“Alright, go lay down,” she said, adopting her gruff and motherly tone again. “It’s too late for all of this deep discussion.”


	2. A Distraction

They had shared the bed in the attic room for nearly seven months; ever since she’d first found Malfoy standing alone in the street outside, covered in blood and dirt, wounded but frozen to the spot, holding his wand and staring at the row houses, wavering on his feet.

She’d been out with Luna gathering supplies for healing potions and they’d apparated to a spot just outside the hidden row house.

 

_“Malfoy?” Hermione had said to him, handing her bag to Luna, who gave a look of concern before disapparating back inside._

_He didn’t answer her so she moved to stand in front him, in his line of sight, worried that he was some sort of bait, a trap; but also concerned at how violently he was trembling, concerned at how even though his expression was blank there were tears streaming down his face, concerned because there was a six inch claw mark wrapping around his neck, dark with drying blood but he didn’t even seem to care._

_“Hey Draco, are you OK?” She’d dared to put her hand on him, on his forearm, and he’d finally looked at her, his eyes going bright with recognition, realization and something like fear. He looked far younger than he actually was, reminding her of their night shared in the forbidden forest first year…his wide eyed terror when he’d seen the unicorn bleeding to death on the ground._

_“I killed him,” he said to her. “Greyback.”_

 

It had taken most of the Order weeks, even months to truly believe he had changed sides, changed beliefs so drastically, but Granger had seen it and believed it first. Granger had always been the one to believe that he had a shred of goodness hidden inside him. He’d never wanted to be a killer. He’d never wanted to watch people die, not even Greyback. He’d never wanted to be dragged into the violence of this war. But when Hermione had told him about the group of snatchers that had held her hostage for three days after Harry disappeared, when she told him how they’d tortured her for nearly 48 hours, making her go without food, not letting her sleep and doing other…worse…things, he’d left Grimmauld Place and didn’t come back for a week. And the cycle started all over again.

Now he watched her put out the lamps and undress, pulling open the curtains to let in the moonlight before sliding into bed beside him, pulling him over so she could press up against his back, their naked bodies intertwined beneath the sheets. The feeling of her skin against his, her slow breathing helped to regulate his own and the exhaustion of the past four days finally broke through. He sighed and turned onto his back and Hermione started drawing shapes and lines on his face with her fingertip, tracing over his eyebrows, the line of his lips, the length of his nose. He closed his eyes and fell under her trance, allowing himself to relax.

“I don’t want you to do this anymore. I don’t want to lose any more of you,” she whispered in the dark. “Every time you go out you come back a bit more withdrawn, a bit darker. This revenge isn’t making you feel any better.”

She felt him sigh again, heard the little exhale that indicated he was listening at least.

“I want you to stay here and help me, help us. Help me find Harry. Help us break into the Ministry. Stay here with me Draco. You’ve sacrificed enough. It breaks my heart when you leave.”

 

_She’d brought him up the empty attic bedroom that first night, assuring him he was safe. She ran him a bath and found him clean clothes to sleep in as well as giving him something to eat and a mug of warm tea with a splash of whiskey. He’d startled her when she found him sitting on the edge of the bed wearing nothing but a white towel, his body still wet, skin still pink from the hot bath, all the evidence of the night’s horrors washed away._

_“Oh sorry, I’ll come back, I was just bringing you…”_

_“Stay. I don’t…I hate being alone after,” he said, not looking at her. “I feel empty and dirty and every time I close my eyes I just see red. I see rage and blood and hear screaming. I can smell him laying in the mud dying…” He lifted his hands in front of his face and she could see they were shaking.  
_

_“Draco,” she sat down next to him on the bed. She’d patched up the slashing wound across his neck but it would leave a scar just like Harry’s sectumsempra had. In fact his whole torso was marked with scars and wounds, some fresh enough that they were dotted with dark scabs of dried blood. “You’re safe now. You’re here. I’ll…we’ll protect you.”_

_Without thinking she reached out to touch one of the healing marks on his ribs and he winced, knocking her hand away._

_“I’m sorry,” she said. “Let me get something for it. Dittany…anything. We can heal this.”_

_“No, you can’t. They’re whip marks,” he’d said, his voice void of emotion but heavy with exhaustion. “He used the Lingua Ignis. Specially enchanted so that I have to suffer through them and they heal three times slower than anything else.”_

_She’d never seen Draco so quiet, so meek and withdrawn. She thought back to the broken look on his face when Crabbe had died, how he’d quickly scowled and stormed away when he noticed she’d seen him. He was afraid of his humanity. But it looked…right on him. He’d grown tall and lanky in the past couple of years, thin with long, lean muscles in his arms, thick tendons in his neck and broad shoulders, a sort of hidden strength. His cheeks were covered with a few days scruff and it gave him a softer, more approachable look. Handsome even._

_Her hand was on him again, touching him again, and he found that it was more comforting than he could have expected. He’d never expected Granger to touch him at all, not after the way he’d treated her. But her fingers were soft and warm, her touch feather light over his wounds. He’d grown to fear touch, to shrink away from it. His life had been nothing but violence or isolation for nearly two years, but feeling her skin on his he was filled with a hunger for it, need. She’d changed into a tank top and a pair of sleep pants, but he’d never seen anyone more beautiful, so clean. He’d never seen anyone filled with more light. He’d never looked for light._

_She squealed when he kissed her, holding her face in both of his hands, his tongue slipping over her hers, but she didn’t pull away. Her own hands were on his bare chest, feeling his breathing, his heart, wondering if her own was beating just as fast. There was never time for kissing, never anyone she wanted to kiss anyway, but now his lips were perfection, soft yet insistent, a low purr of desire vibrating between them._

_“I need a distraction,” he said, slipping the strap of her top down her shoulder. “I need to stop thinking of…”_

_She silenced him with another kiss, moving to loosen the towel wrapped around his hips. There was no need to explain._

_“We all need a distraction,” she said, closing her fingers around his hardened cock, stroking him in her hand while they kissed. “We all need to feel good. we deserve to feel good.”_

_They moved together in silence, Draco stripping her out of her clothes with an air of desperation, laying her on the bed and slipping inside her. She clung to him as if he’d disappear, wrapping her legs around his hips as he pistoned against her; and for a moment his panting breath was the only sound. After a moment his rhythm slowed and he rolled off of her,_

_“Ride me,” he said. “I want to see all of you.”_

_She was already trembling, short of breath and flushed, a bloom of pink across her chest and cheeks as she lowered herself onto him, closing her eyes to feel the stretch, the depth to which he filled her. He gathered her hair in his hands and pushed it back over her shoulders so he could better see her face as he thrust up inside her. Arching her back as she ground down against him, she braced her hands on his chest. He groaned, a low, deep growl that she could feel in her belly, and with one hand wrapped around her neck, he pulled her down for a kiss, matching the thrusts of his thick cock with his tongue pushing over hers. When her climax hit she cried out his name, her head buried in the cradle of his shoulder as he held on, the rippling, clenching muscles of her pussy triggering his own orgasm, both of them spent, limp and exhausted, laying in each others arms as they caught their breath._


	3. Promise

She woke up before him, the attic bright with late morning sun filtered through the single window. He was stretched out on his stomach, a pillow tucked beneath his chest, one leg exposed, the rest of his body wrapped in the white sheets. There were still pale, faded scars on his back and neck from the Lingua Ignis whip, a patch of rough, raised skin from a Fiendfyre burn and of course the mark on his forearm, the scar he hated most, the only place he wouldn’t let her kiss or touch. On one of his earlier revenge missions he’d lost his mind so completely that he begged on his knees for her to cut off his arm but she’d only continued washing him and mending his wounds, speaking in slow, soft tones to calm him.

While he slept she ran her fingertips over his back, down his spine, her hand slipping under the sheet to find the bone of his hip. Draco rolled onto his back and smiled, his eyes still closed.

“My favorite way to wake up,” he said when she moved over to lay in the crook of his arm, her fingertips playing over his chest and stomach.

“You know, I could wake you up like this every day,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder, then his chest, ducking down beneath the covers to kiss his belly. “Or like this.”

She took him into her mouth, sucking slowly, teasing, smiling at his little cry of surprise when she took his entire length down her throat, running her hands up his torso, letting him suck her fingers in time with her own bobbing thrusts.

They stayed in bed until well after noon, ignoring the people pounding on the door to ask Hermione questions or see if they were ok; they ignored everyone except each other.

 

“You’d better go back to work, Commander,” he said, pulling out of her and catching his breath. “Your people need you.”

“I need you,” she said. “Promise me, Draco. Promise me you won’t do this again. You won’t leave me. No more secret missions of revenge, no more disappearing in the middle of the night for three days. Just stay here with me.”

He got out of bed and pulled a pair of joggers out of the dresser, checking out a newly blooming bruise on his ribs, wincing as he pressed his fingers to it.

“What good am I here?" He asked, rummaging through the drawers for a t-shirt. "What am I going to do, make sandwiches for tea?”

“You don’t have to do anything but  _be_ , Draco,” she wrapped the sheet around herself and stood behind him, frowning as he examined the wounds she hadn’t seen the night before. “You need to heal. Ever since you came here you’ve been going non-stop, not a moment to breathe. I can’t stand to see someone I love going through such torture.”

“I need to prove myself. To you, to…Dean, Ginny….her crazy mother…I need people to know…”

“They know. We all know,” she kissed his shoulder and held his gaze in the mirror. “You’ve done enough.”

She closed her hand around his forearm, her warm, slim fingers covering the black serpent running under his skin. He tensed his arm and tried to pull away, his mouth set in a tight line.

“Hermione,”

“This means nothing,” she said, holding tight, as if she could absorb it, pull the darkness into her own skin and let him be rid of it. “It’s just another scar from another battle you fought, another punishment you lived through. It doesn’t define you any more than your name or your wand or your fucking house. We’ve all changed. We’re all different. You’re Draco Malfoy and I’m Hermione Granger and I love you and I don’t want to lose you again.”

He smiled weakly and shook his head. “Oh Christ, are you proposing to me Granger?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

He pulled his arm away, but she could feel that he’d relaxed, that his pulse had slowed, the tension in his jaw had softened. She turned him around and kissed him, ruffling his hair just to irritate him.

“As if I had time to get married, Malfoy.”

They both laughed and she shouldered past him to pull clean underwear and a pair of jeans from the dresser.

“I promise I won’t leave you,” he said quietly, watching her dress. “I promise you that I’m done. But you have to promise to make me useful. I won’t just sit here like a broken doll. Promise me you’ll let me fight.”

 

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, just where she’d found him the night before.  But now he was bathed in sunlight, wearing a crisp white t-shirt, his features soft with rest and relief. She stood in front of him and bent to kiss the crown of his head.  Someone else was pounding on the door again.

“I solemnly promise to wake you up at six a.m. every day so you can help me with my locator spells and truth charms and then you can help Molly make breakfast in the kitchen. You have my word, love.”

She turned to leave, her heart light, her mind at peace, ready to face whatever was waiting downstairs. But before she could get far, Draco grabbed her wrist and she turned back.

“Just so you know Granger, my answer would have been yes.”

 

 

The End


End file.
